


secretly (between the shadow and the soul)

by jamesstruttingpotter



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Bellarke Secret Santa 2016, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-16
Updated: 2016-12-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 21:08:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,071
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8862079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamesstruttingpotter/pseuds/jamesstruttingpotter
Summary: What occurs to him sometime between taking off Clarke’s bra and pinning her against the wall is that at first, he’d been a pretty big asshole about the fact that she’d taken the job at the museum.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is a fic for the Bellarke Secret Santa 2016 exchange! This gift is for weswithlaurel on tumblr; I really hope you like it!
> 
> Happy holidays, everyone!

**present**

What occurs to him sometime between taking off Clarke’s bra and pinning her against the wall is that at first, he’d been a pretty big asshole about the fact that she’d taken the job at the museum.

“Hey,” he says, in between kisses. “Definitely should not have complained about the fact that you work at that fancy place. Almost regretting my attempts to dissuade you from doing it.”

She laughs, the sound breathless in his ear. Her heel digs into his calf. “Good thing I never listen to you.”

He bites her neck and takes immense satisfaction in the sound she makes. “Yeah. Good thing.”

 

**four and a half hours before present**

Bellamy knows he’s screwed as soon as Clarke rushes out of her bedroom, hair half-done and makeup perfect. Five seconds earlier, he’d been fidgeting with his necktie and wondering if she’d kill him if he backed out of going with her to her museum’s holiday party; now, he can’t seem to stop staring at her.

“What?” she asks, harried. Then, without waiting for a response: “Have you seen any bobby pins lying around?”

“You look great,” he says, unable to help himself. 

“I will, once I find some bobby pins. Seriously, Bellamy, any?”

“No. Just leave it down,” he suggests.

She bites her lip, meeting his gaze. “You think?”

“Yeah.” He swallows. “Your back is bare anyway.” 

Her expression turns mischievous. “That’s why I wanted my hair up.”

His resolve breaks almost immediately. “Come on, let’s just stay in tonight. You can pretend you got sick and couldn’t attend.”

“Yeah, not going to happen.” She spots a couple lying on the coffee table and seizes them. “Besides,” she adds, fixing her curls, “I like seeing you all dressed up.”

“I can keep the suit on,” he says, reaching for her. She dances out of his reach, laughing.

“Bellamy, come on. _One_  fake date, and then we can have endless sex afterward.”

He makes a big show of considering it. “ _Endless_  sex, huh?”

“Loud, wake up the neighbors, until three am sex,” she promises. 

He sighs theatrically. “Well, I guess I can handle not touching you for a few hours.”

She pushes in one last pin; wisps of curls now dust the tops of her shoulders. “I appreciate your sacrifice. As will Wells. Honestly, I don’t know why Thelonious keeps thinking we’d be good together. What alternate universe does he live in?”

Bellamy tamps down on a surge of what is decidedly _not_  jealousy in favor of trailing his fingers down her bare spine. She shivers. “Come on, Princess,” he says, voice husky. “Let’s get this show on the road.”

 

**three hours before present**

If he doesn’t stop touching her, she’s going to go certifiably insane. 

The worst part is that it hasn’t even been anything risqué. A hand on her back, an arm around her shoulder, fingers brushing a curl away from her face. It’s all been completely, totally, undeniably _romantic_.

Which is great. Which is exactly what Clarke wanted from him this evening. A fake date, to throw Thelonious off the scent. Exactly.

“Your life is a mess,” observes Wells from his position next to her. 

“Don’t remind me,” Clarke mutters, slouching against the wall behind them. “I panicked, okay? Your father was talking to my mother, who then called me, and I needed a warm body. Bellamy was it.”

Wells’ eyebrows somehow hike even higher up his forehead. “Bellamy was it, huh? No one else? Just Bellamy?”

“… Shut up.”

“Seriously, Clarke, when are you going to figure that out?” 

“Hey, no questions about my love life. Especially when you’re still working on your own problems.”

“Ouch, low blow,” he laughs, teasing. “Besides, Raven’s way more intimidating than Bellamy is. The guy practically melts every time you look at him.”

“Right,” she says, dry. She ignores Wells’ sigh in favor of searching for Bellamy amongst the knots of people around them. She spots him halfway across the room, holding two glasses of white wine and heading back towards her. He keeps glancing at the ancient history displays by the hallway opposite her. His tie is crooked, and affection suddenly curls in her stomach, warm and heavy.

“Let’s just drop the subject, alright?” she murmurs. 

“My lips are sealed,” Wells replies, just as the subject himself reaches them. “Hey, Bellamy.”

“What’s up, Jaha? Here’s your drink, Clarke.”

She reaches to fix his tie instead, smoothing the fabric down against his chest. Bellamy grins at Wells, who shrugs.

“At least it’s a nice tie,” Clarke says, finally taking the wine from him. He snorts.

“I’m glad I meet your stringent standards, princess.”

“You’ll do.”

“Wow, this is really some romantic talk,” Wells remarks, and Clarke is turning to glare at him when she realizes Thelonious is sidling up to their group.

“Clarke!” the older man says. “It’s so wonderful to see you here tonight.”

“You too,” she replies, putting on a smile. “Thank you so much for your donation, it’s really keeping the lights on in this old place.”

“Oh, nonsense. We all have a duty to patronize the arts, don’t we?” Thelonious’ smile is magnanimous; Wells grimaces behind his back. “And how’s Abby?”

Clarke’s smile gets a little fixed. “She’s great. Busy at the hospital, as per usual, but she’ll be here soon.”

“Wonderful. Saving lives left and right, I’d imagine.” His jovial attitude slips a little when Bellamy slides an arm around her waist. “Ah, Mr. Blake. How nice to see you again.”

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Bellamy replies. Clarke hides her grin in her wineglass.

Wells clears his throat. “Bellamy and Clarke are here together, Dad,” he says, a little too pointedly.

“Oh.” The surprised look on Thelonious’ face has Clarke curling further into Bellamy’s embrace. “Well, that’s… that’s wonderful. How does Abby feel about this?”

“We’ll find out soon enough, I guess,” Clarke replies, shrugging. Her dress strap nearly slides off one shoulder; Bellamy grits his teeth against the sudden swell of temptation.

“Well. This is all very… nice.” Thelonious shakes his head as if clearing his thoughts. “Wells, a moment?”

“Sure, Dad.” Wells shoots them an exasperated look over his shoulder as he follows his father to the other side of the room.

“He’s probably getting an earful about how unsuitable we are,” Clarke says once they’re out of earshot, looking up at him with a cheerful expression.

“Yeah, I’m sure that’s a hilarious conversation,” Bellamy replies, a little too caustic to be casual. She frowns.

“Hey, come on. You know this is all bullshit.” She presses a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the drink.”

“You’re welcome.” The stormy look on his face still hasn’t cleared up. 

She sighs. “Wanna go make out in the bathroom?”

He looks down at her. “Are you just saying that to make me feel better?” 

She shrugs again. This time, the thin strap really does fall down. He growls. “Fuck it, let’s go.”

 

**present**

“Bellamy,” she gasps, hands tight in his hair. “If you keep teasing me, I swear I’ll - _fuck_.”

“That’s the idea, yeah,” he says, before licking another stripe against her cunt. 

Her head falls back against the pillows. The headboard of her bed knocks into the wall behind them; distantly, she remembers her neighbors on the other side of it. She can’t find it in herself to care. “Bell,” she pants. “Come _on_.”

He presses a kiss against her inner thigh before straightening up. “Alright, princess, no need to get so demanding about it.”

She manages to give him a glare. “What do you think you’re doing?”

He reaches to unbuckle his belt, grinning down at her. “I’m sorry, do you not want me to fuck you?”

She tugs on his shirt hard enough to send buttons scattering.

 

**two hours before present**

The ladies’ restroom has a little vanity area attached by the stalls, with a huge lighted mirror, a marble counter with lotions and potpourri, and an honest-to-God _couch._

“These are some pretty sweet amenities,” Bellamy says from his seat on said couch. 

Clarke grins as she rummages through her clutch for her lipstick. “Maybe the designers knew people would need to make themselves look presentable again after hooking up in here.”

“You think museum patrons are hooking up in here between exhibits?”

“Um, I _know_  museum patrons are hooking up in here between exhibits.” She finds the tube and starts re-applying a deep cherry color. Bellamy wipes his mouth with the back of his hand; sure enough, faint red smears appear across his skin. She grins at him through the mirror and waves a tissue. “I can help you get that off.”

He gets up from his seat to peer at his reflection. “I don’t know, it kinda matches my suit.”

"The color definitely looks better on you than on me.” She tucks the lipstick back into her bag and turns to face him. Her fingers are cool against his mouth as she wipes the color away. “There, now we look almost respectable.”

He doesn’t say anything back, just pushes a curl of her hair away from her face. Something about his expression is oddly soft, lit as it is by the warm yellow light from the vanity. 

Wells’ words rise unbidden from the back of her mind - _the guy melts when you look at him._

She finds herself opening her mouth. There are words in her throat now, words that she has only let herself think about in the dark, when he’s sleeping next to her with one arm slung over her waist as she stares as his analog alarm clock, the one he took the batteries out of because she’d complained one time that the ticking made it hard for her to sleep. They’re words she’s only dared to think about in the morning sunlight, when Bellamy is shuffling around in the kitchen to make her pancakes while she sits on the countertop, stealing strawberries and filling out the newspaper’s sudoku puzzles. She thinks about them in the quiet in-between spaces, in the dim shadow between having him and _having_  him, in a softly lit bathroom alcove with his eyes on hers.

The words are on the tip of her tongue. 

“Bellamy, I - “

The door behind her swings open suddenly. Clarke startles at the noise, turning around to see an older woman standing there. She has a disapproving look on her face as she looks at Bellamy. 

“Let’s get out of here, princess,” he says, voice quiet. 

Her heart is still pounding. She nods, and slips her hand into his outstretched one as they walk out.

 

**present**

The first slide of him into her is always her favorite. She gasps out his name, hot against his temple, and his teeth rasp against her shoulder. 

“Good?” he asks, and the roughness of his voice makes her shudder. She surges up to kiss him, messy, and he drops to his elbows to drive into her. Her hands slide up his back and into his hair.  

“Fuck, Bellamy,” she murmurs, and she can see a flash of his teeth as he grins.

“Yes, ma'am,” he replies, and she laughs until his thumb slides down to her clit. He strokes her, steady in exactly the way she likes it, and that’s how she comes, wet against his fingers and moaning.

 

**one hour before present**

She’s left Bellamy somewhere by the ancient history exhibits for a few minutes so she can do her job before (hopefully) leaving for the night. She has a list of big name donors she should be thanking and schmoozing and hopefully getting more money out of, and that’s the part of the job she hates the most. 

But she’s good at it, has a talent for it born from years of watching Abby perform the same tricks over and over again, so she puts on her best smile and makes her rounds.

She’s just finishing up with the elderly Mrs. Kane when Abby herself comes up beside her. “Vera, so nice to see you again,” she says, in a tone that’s both warm and dismissive. Clarke frowns, but Mrs. Kane is saying goodbye before she can do anything.

“Mom, I’m trying to do my job,” she says instead.

Clarke can tell that Abby is similarly displeased, although she’s sure no one else can notice Abby’s locked shoulders, her tight grip on her wineglass. She’s dressed in a flattering grey sheath, not a hair out of place. She offers a smile to a passing patron and says, “I think we should have a chat.”

“About what?” Clarke asks, the first tinges of exasperation creeping into her voice.

“What else?” Abby gestures to the far side of the room where Bellamy stands, inspecting a display of ancient Roman jewelry. Clarke feels a sense of impending doom. “Now,” Abby continues, crisp, “I know you and Mr. Blake have quite the history, or at least you do from the way Wells tells it. But you have to consider the external factors at play here. You should be thinking more seriously about your relationships now that you’re in your late twenties.”

“Mom, I’m not going to date Wells,” Clarke says, trying to keep her tone similarly even. “He and I are both in firm agreement about that.”

“Yes, I think I’ve understood that, even if Thelonious hasn’t,” she replies, undeterred. “But my point still stands, Clarke. I can’t watch you throw away a few months of your life on some boy whom you don’t really care for, and who doesn’t really care for you.”

“Oh, that’s what you’re concerned with,” she says, heat rising to her cheeks. “I’m sure that’s what it is, rather than social status or money or other _external factors_.”

“Well.” Abby’s mouth is set into a firm line. “As I said before, you do need to start considering more serious relationships now that you’re getting older, Clarke. That’s just a fact of life.”

“And Bellamy can’t be a serious relationship because he’s a high school teacher with no rich parents, is that it?”

“Clarke - “

“No, Mom, that’s exactly what you’re thinking.”

“And what’s so wrong with that?” Abby actually laughs a little. “You’re so _young_ , sweetheart. And one day you’re going to actually want a good home, a savings account, a nice car in the driveway. You think you’ll be twenty eight forever, but you won’t. I’m just trying to make sure you understand that.”

“I think I understand plenty.” There’s a hollow sort of ringing noise in her ears, and she continues before she can think twice. “For what it’s worth, Mom, I’m pretty sure Bellamy cares more for me than you do. Or at least, he’s much better at showing it than you are. And if you think that this is the sort of relationship that I’m going to _throw away_ in a few months, you clearly don’t know me or him very well at all.”

She’s sure that Abby won’t make a scene by following her to keep arguing. Still, she heads straight for Bellamy. 

“Done sucking up?” he teases, before catching sight of her expression. The smile drops from his face. “What’s wrong?”

“Follow me outside?” she asks, and he nods. They head for the side exit, where the doors open up to the museum’s garden. It’s cold, but that means no one else is out there, and that’s all Clarke cares about.

Bellamy is silent until they walk far enough onto the grounds, but then he stops her with a hand to the elbow. “Clarke, you’re worrying me. What happened?”

“I just talked to my mom,” she says, and he tenses up. “And I realized something.”

“Yeah?” he says, and it sounds like he’s trying his best to be nonchalant. “What’s that?” 

“I love you,” she says, and it’s like a weight has slipped from her chest. “And I realized I didn’t want my mom to be the first person to hear it.”

Bellamy pauses, and Clarke can almost see the gears turning in his head. “You love me,” he repeats, and the careful neutrality in his voice threatens to break her heart.

“Yes,” she says, and waits.

He doesn’t say anything for another second. But then, sudden and bright enough that she startles, he’s laughing. “One of us should’ve said something,” he says, and then he’s kissing her.

The sheer relief she feels threatens to overwhelm the fact that his mouth is warm on hers. But then his arms wrap around her and she melts, fingers winding through his hair. It feels familiar, exactly the same way that Bellamy always feels, and she can’t stop smiling long enough to kiss him back.

“Fuck, we’re dumbasses,” he says finally, and she laughs. 

 

**present**

His pace is slow the second time around, almost unbearably so, and she tugs at his hair in frustration.

“Patience is a virtue,” he tells her.

She opens her eyes, ready to glare at him until he speeds up, but somehow the lamplight catches on his freckles in a way that makes her forget that plan. “I love you,” she says instead, and his grin is delighted.

“That’s just playing dirty,” he replies. 

He rocks against her, slow and exacting, until they’re both panting. He comes first, burying his face into her shoulder, and it’s the rasp of his stubble against her neck that pushes her over the edge. 

He tucks her into his side as they come down, pressing kisses into her hair. “I love you too,” he murmurs, and she smiles. 

“That’s surprising,” she says, propping herself up to look at him.

“Oh yeah? Why?”

“I wasn’t sure how much you’d like a princess with a posh museum position,” she replies, smile widening. He laughs.

“Well, I think I made a great decision.”

“Why’s that?”

“Now you can buy me all the things I want.” He puts on a serious air. “I would call you a sugar daddy, but you’re not a guy. Which is kind of unfair. I mean, being a sugar daddy should really be an equal opportunity employment sort of deal, right?”

“Oh my _God_ ,” she groans, flopping down onto the mattress again. “You’re so ridiculous. I can’t believe I willingly signed up for this.”

“We all have our crosses to bear,” he says, mock solemn, and when he leans down to kiss her, she can’t keep the smile off her face.

Yeah, she thinks she’ll be just fine.


End file.
